One Scotch Too Many or One Scotch Enough
by Auntieoaty
Summary: Summary: Andrew and Sam get Christopher back home after finding him drunk. He has had one scotch too many; or, is it one scotch enough? Complete
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: own nothing / claim nothing / profit nothing All errors are mine; no Beta

Spoilers: As always potentially any episode

Author's Note: Once again I am very grateful to eyesforfiction for the pre-read, feedback, and general soundboard assistance – Thank you my friend!

 **Chapter one**

Adam was not happy about it; but, Sam had insisted on waiting for Mr. Foyle's return before they married.

Adam had frequently asked "When?"

And Sam had just as often answered, "I don't know. Just, _after_ Mr. Foyle comes home."

His patience pushed to the brink one evening, Adam challenged, "What if something happens and he never comes back?"

The younger man was completely unaware of that being Sam's most secret fear. Hearing it aloud had shocked her into flight and she had left the London rooming house; where they each had a room, and sought a hotel room for the night. She could scarcely afford it; but, she could not deal with Adam or worse; face being reminded of his words by staying where they were spoken. Adam in turn was hurt by Sam's running off, leaving him to worry about her all night, and then refusing to discuss the matter at all once she returned. Tensions seemed to be steadily mounting between the two and Sam began to doubt the wisdom in continuing their engagement. This was where things stood when Foyle returned and managed to unintentionally get Sam fired

She and Adam were engaged and he had insisted she join him for his interview because he expected they would be married by the time he was on the ballot. Sam arrived late and Adam, although appearing calm and collected in front of the interview board, lost his temper when they were back at the boarding house and insisted she stay away from Mr. Foyle because it led to nothing but trouble.

"He lost you your job. And, he caused you to be late to the interview, which could very well have cost me my chance at MP."

Sam did not argue with him, even though she did not agree either. Adam was being ridiculous and totally unfair. Mr. Foyle had been looking out for her; he had not intended to get her fired. As for the situation that led to her being late to the interview; she had insisted on being included in finding out why she was being set up and there was no way she or Foyle could have known about the possibility of radiation exposure. A few days later when Mr. Foyle approached her about coming to work with him, at MI5 as his assistant, Sam did not hesitant to accept. Once again Adam voiced his objection. However, Sam did not remain silent. She explained that, as Adam had pointed out, she was out of a job and in need of work. Her argument continued with the point that with Adam pursuing a post in politics one of them needed to be earning some money. He relented but made it clear he was not happy with the arrangement and wanted her to secure other employment as soon as possible.

Over the next several months Sam continued in her job as Foyle's assistant, never once seeking employment elsewhere. The tensions between her and Adam, that had eased temporarily when he was elected MP, resumed a couple of months after his election and mounted steadily in frequency and intensity over the ensuing months. Adam, although quite consumed by the demands of his position, had begun to push Sam to set a date for their wedding. Sam was still resistant, although she was unable to tell Adam exactly why she was delaying the wedding at that point. The more often Adam brought the topic up, the greater Sam's general irritation with him rose.

Sam was at the office when Hilda Pierce had blown herself and Sir Alec up with a grenade. In addition to obliterating Sir Alec's office and the two occupants; the explosion had rocketed through the office door blowing splinters of wood and other debris into the wall across the hallway. Miss Pierce had chosen a point in the day when there was rarely anyone about. However, Sam had returned to secure some documents she had left in her desk. She was just returning from the upstairs file room, walking along the corridor near Sir Alec's office, at the time of the explosion. The blast threw her against the wall and caused her to fall to the floor. The ensuing chaos led of many of the senior members of MI5 back to the building. Two of the first to arrive were Foyle and Valentine, who had already been en route to the office following the arrest of Damian White. Foyle saw Sam as the attendants were helping her down the front steps of building. Forcing his way through the gathering crowd with a flash of his identification here and there he reached her fairly quickly. Sam's injuries did not appear any more serious than minor bruises to her knees, one shoulder and the palm of one hand which also sported a cut along the side; just off her palm. She insisted her most annoying complaint, of a humming in her ears, was really not very bad at all. Foyle secured a car and driver and accompanied her to hospital to be checked out. When the doctor's assured him her injuries were indeed, as surprising as it seemed, all fairly minor and she would be perfectly fine in short order, Foyle sent her home. But not before extracting a promise from her that she would rest and if she had any other complaints or her ears got worse she would return to hospital. Sam promised and he saw her off with the car and driver. Foyle secured a taxi and returned to the office to see what, if anything, he could do to help with the situation.

Adam was just returning to the boarding house when Sam exited the car. He stared at her, his mouth agape as he took in her appearance; hair disheveled, clothing covered in plaster dust, stockings torn at both knees, smudges on her face and a bandage on her hand. Sam stared back; tired and still trying to mentally process all that had happened in the last little while, she could not think of nothing to say. Carefully avoiding telling Adam what had happen; Sam insisted she was alright and just wanted to clean up, have a bite to eat and go to bed.

Sam returned to work the next day, earlier than usual, figuring there would be a lot to do in the wake of the previous day's events. Foyle's first reaction was to inquire after her wellbeing and seek an assurance that she had done as she had promised; eaten and rested. The building was abuzz with people, sifting, cleaning, securing, organizing and generally recovering from the damage wrought by Miss Pierce's actions. It would take a considerable period of time for everything to return to normal. However, it was not a task that would face undue delay. Sam marveled at the number of people who were brought in to set the place to rights. Including a new director; who was not only overseeing the reclamation efforts but was also spearheading an immediate return to functionality. Sir Leslie Sutcliffe was not a man to be deterred. An independent investigation was being conducted under Sir Leslie's prevue and he sought a return to a normal order of business for everyone else. He ordered the senior officers resume their usual work and focus solely on their cases with the promise of providing any and all additional support staff required. Valentine and Foyle were among those whose departments were generally unaffected by the situation. In fact the majority of the offices and were unaffected, save Sir Alec's and the hallway outside Sir Alec's office. The majority of the issues for the staff in the rest of the building were related to the dust and dirt from the vibration in various parts of the building and the items that had fallen or were otherwise displaced. By the end of the workday the majority of the senior officers and their respective staff had managed to satisfy Sir Leslie's directive to 'return to business as usual'.

That evening when Sam returned to the boarding house she met Adam for dinner and relayed the events of the previous few days to him. His response was to gloss over how she and Harris had helped him and immediately begin to blame Foyle for putting her in a dangerous situation again. Adam then started to blame her for continuing to work with Foyle after he had repeatedly told her to quit. He grew angrier with her by the passing second for not doing what he had told her to do. Sam became incensed and told Adam she could not marry him. As far as she was concerned Adam seemed to know and understand less and less about her every day and she would not marry any man who thought he could simply command her to do this or do that. Sam stormed up to her room and locked herself in, refusing to discuss the matter further; her mind was made up.

Adam said, "Well, just don't go running off in the night and leave me to worry about you again. We'll talk in the morning."

Sam called out from her locked room, "You are relieved of any further concern for me. I shall leave or do anything else that I wish and we will _not_ talk tomorrow morning or any other time."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: own nothing / claim nothing / profit nothing All errors are mine; no Beta

Spoilers: As always potentially any episode

Author's Note: Once again I am very grateful to eyesforfiction for the pre-read, feedback, and general soundboard assistance – Thank you my friend!

 **Chapter Two**

Unbeknownst to Foyle this final implosion of the young couple's relationship occurred the night before he made the mistake of issuing a declarative directive to Sam in a gruff and, all too misplaced, dismissive tone; without even greeting her the next morning. Then, with not even a 'by your leave', he turned on a heel and strode down the corridor in search of Valentine.

For her part, Sam was equally unaware that Foyle had spent, a second, entirely restless night enduring a myriad of dreams; nightmares really, in which Sam was greatly injured or in some way taken from him. It was not the first time he had had such disturbances to his sleep; a nightmare following a day in which Sam had somehow been in harm's way was pretty well to be expected. What set this experience apart from the others was having multiple nightmares that persisted throughout multiple nights; each more intense and distressing than the previous. The mental and physical fatigue from the lack of sleep would have been bad enough on their own; but, the emotional barrage he had endured had pushed him well past anything resembling exhaustion. When he finally gave up on sleep, and began to start his day as early as it was, his mind was still restless and his body was functioning just fast enough to be called movement. Snippets of the nightmares returned to his mind's eye, the tumult of his emotional state was so far beyond his comprehension to garner any attempts to rationalize it away. The only worthwhile thought that had come to him was that the explosion of two days before was by no means the greatest risk ever placed on Sam; but, even that was cold comfort. Especially when it triggered an itemized replay of every known threat Sam had been faced with over the years he had known her.

Foyle arrived at the office earlier than ever and expected to have some quiet time to himself in his office before Sam arrived. His hope had been to be able to think better there than he had in his rooms. However, he had been assailed from his first step into the building; questions about this and that, messages requiring attention and timely reactions and then he was face to face with Valentine. After nearly two hours of verbally sparing with one and then another of his co-workers he had his fill. That was the moment Valentine chose to inform him that he required Foyle's 'eye for the criminal' in an interview to be conducted in Southampton and he was expected to be ready to leave no later than 9:15. Foyle had grown to hate the interviews, for which Valentine enlisted him; ones at such distances that the man was compelled to promise they would 'make time for a meal before returning to London'. Foyle wearily dropped into the chair behind his desk and hastily scratched out a list of things for Sam to do. He wrote down absolutely everything he could think of and had only managed a brief list; constituting a meager amount of time for her to complete. Somewhere in the near distance the sound of typewriters clicking and clacking away spurred him to add 'practice typing' to the list. While he struggled to think of more to add, the item on typing caught his eye and surprised him. When had he written that? Foyle started to cross it out; just then his phone rang and Sam walked into his office.

He snatched the receiver from the base and watched as Sam entered, "Hello?"

Valentine's voice came over the line and Foyle listened to the other man's 'minor change of plan'; inexplicable, as usual. "Might we leave, now?"

Foyle rolled his eyes in agitation "Of course. Be right down!"

He jammed the receiver back onto the cradle as he stood. Ire growing with his every breath; he grabbed his hat and overcoat with such force he nearly toppled the stand. Pausing the briefest of moments, he stared at the tottering coat stand; silently daring it to fall over. Promising himself he would pitch it out the window if indeed it dared. As it stilled to a faint wobble of its shaft he rounded the desk and lifted the paper from the blotter.

He held the note out to Sam, "Off to Southampton with Valentine. See to this while I'm gone would you. Sam."

Her name sounded as though it were added as an afterthought and there was no question in the flatly stated words. He had not even hesitated for her 'Yes, sir' or to see if she had any questions. When Sam scanned the abbreviated list she was momentarily stunned. She made herself slow down and carefully read each of the enumerated items. Of course he had not waited for any questions from her, because the scant list consisted of items that she could have easily done in her sleep. What was worse was she knew by reading through the list that in all actuality it would only consume about an hour or so worth of her time. Except for the last item, 'practice typing'; was she expected to do that the remaining hours he was gone?! If he was going to Southampton, he would be gone the better part of the day. Sam diligently went through each item on the list, carefully completing what was requested, save the last item; which annoyed her more each time her eyes chanced to see it. She spent extra time on each task and then even more time in double checking and triple checking that each item was done, as requested, and would be to Mr. Foyle's satisfaction; again save the last.

The list double and triple checked, less the typing practice, was completed in just about two hours. By which time Sam was nearly incensed. Working as slowly as possible, she had still only managed to exhaust a bit more than a quarter of her workday. She spent some time over a cup of tea; replaying Mr. Foyle's dismissive manner and the insultingly short list of brainless tasks that was cruelly punctuated with the glaring jab at her typing skills. At first she had tried to reason it away; but, over the two hours she wasted on busy work, no reasoning could be found or accepted by her. Following her tea, Sam returned to Mr. Foyle's office and deliberately crossed through each item on the list. When she reached the last one she circled it and drew a line down from the ellipses to a simple four word note, comprised of two sentences:

'Lost cause! I quit. S-'

After she placed the paper on the center of his cleared desk top, Sam left his office, locking the door behind her. She retrieved her minimal personal belongs from her desk, including her hat and coat and left the building without a word to anyone. After a long walk all over London, exhaustion finally overtaking her body, she headed to her room in the boarding house. Grateful not to have encountered Adam on her return, Sam stole into her room and fell across the bed; her mind whirling with the events of the last couple of days. Her break-up with Adam seemed so long ago and made little to no impact on her emotions. On the other hand, Mr. Foyle's dismissive attitude that morning wounded her deeply. She could not even put into words why that was or just how badly it hurt.

As it happened, Foyle called to talk to Sam about 20 minutes after she had left. When she couldn't be located he asked that a note be left on her desk, requesting she call him at the number he left; the office where he and Valentine would be for the next couple of hours.

It was half four that afternoon when Foyle finally made it back to his office. He was more than ready to call it a day; Valentine had once again asked him to sit in on an interview and then picked apart every observation he had given him afterward. Days like this pushed him to the brink of resigning; there had to be a better way to spend his days. Surprised to find the door locked, he fished his key from his pocket, unlocked the door and quickly shed his hat and overcoat. Once the items were deposited on the coat stand he headed for the adjoining room in search of Sam. She had not called as he had asked which was unlike her and he had been utterly rude that morning; which was unlike him. He wanted nothing more than to find Sam and apologize. He thought of maybe inviting her for dinner; as both a way to make up for his boorish behavior of the morning and to start putting the day behind him.

The room was full of sound and activities as the secretarial pool were all actively engaged in various pursuits. Foyle quickly scanned the room but saw no sign of Sam. He made his way to her desk and found the note relaying his message; folded so it would stand on her desk. Picking it up to be sure that the slip of paper was his message; Foyle glanced at it and pushed it into his coat pocket en route to his office. This time he noticed the single piece of note paper he had written on that morning. The small paper sat in the center of his desk; he wondered how he missed seeing it when he had come in a few minutes before.

Foyle drug himself from the office and contemplated going by Sam's room to see if he could speak with her. Thinking maybe she had just lost her composure in the moment and would calm down and return to work the next day; he opted to give her some space and went to his own rooms and ordered a simple meal in. Maybe he could retire early and make up for the previous two nights lack of sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: own nothing / claim nothing / profit nothing All errors are mine; no Beta

Spoilers: As always potentially any episode

Author's Note: Once again I am very grateful to eyesforfiction for the pre-read, feedback, and general soundboard assistance – Thank you my friend!

 **Chapter Three**

Foyle's hope of gaining on his sleep did not come to fruition. He spent the night tossing and turning. Between mentally berating himself for his insensitive treatment of Sam, fearing she may have really meant to quit and the nightmares that came when he did slip into sleep; rest was not to be had. When the sun started to break the horizon, he got up and readied himself for the day. After tea and toast that he barely touched, he headed to the office; for the second morning in a row, he was earlier than he had ever been in the past. Foyle went to his office and found there was nothing for him to do: Sam had completed the list and that left nothing for him to finish up. After wandering the halls for the better part of an hour, Foyle made his way to Valentine's office. Following a cursory exchange of morning greetings he inquired as to whether there was any input required of him from the interview the day before. He and Valentine covered a few extraneous points and reviewed the interview in total before Foyle took his leave. Walking into his office he noted it was quarter past the hour. With a quick peek into the outer office he confirmed Sam had not come in. He grabbed his hat and overcoat and left his office at a quick pace. Without delay Foyle made his way to Sam's boarding house. He nearly ran into Adam as he entered while the younger man exited the building. It was obvious they were equally surprised to see the other.

Adam offered a short nod and a cool, "Mr. Foyle."

Foyle, in turn, replied in a sociable tone, "Adam. Good morning. Sam running late?"

The younger man bristled, "I wouldn't know. I have been 'relieved of my responsibility' for Sam."

Confused by Adam's words and brusque tone, Foyle said, "Excuse me?"

"Sam didn't tell you? I'm surprised. We had a row night before last. She refuses to talk to me or even acknowledge my presence at her door."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that, Adam."

The younger man did not attempt to hide his distain as he offered a dismissive, "I'm sure you are. If you see her, tell her she wins. I got the message loud and clear!" with that he turned and bounded down the steps.

Foyle received no answer from his knock on her room door. No one in the house claimed to have seen her. He pulled the 'I quit' note from his pocket, stared at the bottom four words and shoved the paper back into his overcoat. Then he withdrew the note that had been left on her desk informing her of his call. He circled the date and time he called and added a note to the bottom:

Tried to call you.  
Sam, I am very sorry to have been so obtuse yesterday morning.

Please call me.

C. Foyle.

Sam didn't get his notes until the following week. She had become more and more agitated as she thought back over the previous two days and impulsively decided to take a few days to visit her Uncle Aubrey. He had always been a good sounding board for her and she felt she needed someone to help her get her thoughts sorted. When she returned to her room she found Foyle's notes and immediately called his office.

"Mr. Foyle no longer works here. Would you care to speak with someone else?"

"Is he alright? Has he been hurt?"

"I don't know about alright or hurt. I do know he quit unexpectedly. And, his resignation really upset the senior staff."

Foyle had resigned his position and returned to Hastings, a couple of days after leaving his note for Sam. She had not called as he asked. He could not keep from looking at her note and felt more embarrassed and ashamed each time he did. Ultimately, he decided he had made a complete mess of the situation with Sam and would be better off at home; away from the daily reminder of his mistake. That proved to be a bad decision because, in his mind's eye, he saw Sam everywhere around Hastings. Memories of their years there, all the places they had been together, magnified his loss and caused him to feel even worse. He tried calling her at the boarding house several times. She wasn't in, they didn't know when to expect her, yes they would take a message but good luck to him, they couldn't remember the last time anyone saw her. His last call to the boarding house he asked for Adam. Again, they were sorry but he had not been seen for the past few days either.

Just before he ended the call he heard, "Come to think of it, I think they left the same day."

Foyle took the comment to mean Sam and Adam had patched things up and gone off somewhere. He presumed she had moved on and would forget about ever coming back to work with him.

Sam packed her belongings and, on a hunch, took the train to Hastings. She arranged to stay with an old friend for a couple of nights. Her idea was to visit Mr. Foyle, talk things over and see where things stood. If she didn't find him in Hastings she would return to her Uncle Aubrey's for an extended holiday of sorts. There was no answer at Foyle's home. Sam then stopped by the police station; a couple of the constables she knew had not seen him: weren't aware he had been back in town. Next she went around to the neighboring merchants; one remembered seeing him the morning before. Said they did not know if he was coming into town, leaving or was still around. That evening Sam thought she would try his home again. As she walked toward Steep Lane she thought about her options if he still was not in. She considered waiting on his front steps but talked herself out of that. While cresting the top of Steep Lane and trying to decide what to do; she saw him step out the front door and lock it before heading down the walk in the opposite direction. Sam froze then, for a moment, not knowing how she should proceed. Before he could round the corner, out of her line of sight, she quickly followed; when he turned the corner Sam hastened her step so she could see where he was headed. Foyle entered a pub and Sam paused as she wondered, 'Now what?'. She waited awhile and when he did not emerge; she opted to return and wait on his steps after all.

Foyle had phoned his son, Andrew, that morning and asked if he'd like to come for a visit? Andrew had begged off; but, the more he thought about it, and the completely out of character behavior and sound of his father's voice, he decided to leave work early and go down to Hastings to check on his dad. As Andrew approached the house he could not believe he was actually seeing Sam sitting on the steps. He stopped and they chatted a few minutes. When he asked after his father Sam did not mention their falling out or her impetuous childish reaction to the perceived slight. She did explain having seen Foyle enter the pub on her way over and said she had decided not to impose on his time; figured he was meeting with someone.

"Why?" Andrew asked

Sam shrugged and looked at him as if it obvious, "Never known him to drink alone in public."

"Good point." Andrew agreed and offered her a hand up. "Let's go see and if it's someone we know maybe we'll join them. If not you and I can have a drink while we wait."

Needing a bit of courage, Sam agreed it sounded like a good plan.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: own nothing / claim nothing / profit nothing All errors are mine; no Beta

Spoilers: As always potentially any episode

Author's Note: Once again I am very grateful to eyesforfiction for the pre-read, feedback, and general soundboard assistance – Thank you my friend!

 **Chapter Four**

After finding a decidedly drunk Christopher Foyle; Andrew and Sam worked together to get him safely home. Andrew unlocked the door and then helped Sam get his dad into the house. She told him she could manage as the three reached the sitting room and sent him through to the kitchen for tea and something for his dad to eat. Andrew brought a bit of bread and cheese back on a tray with the tea items.

While he was gone Sam lost her balance when she rounded the end of the couch and Foyle had suddenly pitched to one side. They fell onto the couch; him sprawled mostly atop of her. Not wanting to embarrass any of them she decided not to call out to Andrew for help.

Foyle's conscious mind could not quite breakthrough the compounded mental fog of intoxication and sleep deprivation. The stupor he drank himself into only managed to push his mind and body into a neutral, yet highly disquieted state. Under ordinary circumstances he would have passed out cold and remained in a dead asleep for a few hours; but, this was far from ordinary circumstances. The fact he had been significantly sleep deprived for more than a week, leading up to his voluntary intoxication, caused his exhausted mind to succumb to hallucinations. The unhappy balance between the effects of the alcohol and a significant lack of rest propelled his brain into a state of impenetrable mental fog. The events outside his own mind held sway and influence but never quite registered as occurring beyond the confines of his imaginings.

Foyle stared down at Sam with vacant eyes and mumbled, "Can't breathe?"

He did not appear to be in any distress but his expression was intense. For a moment she wondered if he was asking if she could not breathe instead of telling her he was having trouble breathing. With considerable effort she managed to maneuver Mr. Foyle here and there and free herself. By the time Andrew returned to the room she had Foyle seated; a generous term, in his semi-reclined state, alone on the couch. He was propped at an awkward angle into the corner of the couch. Sam had divested him of his tie, unbuttoned his shirt collar; top button only and was undoing his waistcoat.

She explained to Andrew, "He said he couldn't breathe. But he doesn't seem to be in any physical distress."

Actually, as strange a notion as it seemed, the more she recalled the look in his eyes the more she thought it had been their physical closeness that had caused him to say he couldn't breathe. However, she figured his statement was reason enough to reduce the physical restriction wrought by his clothing and allow him to draw air more easily. The pair watched him carefully for several long moments.

Andrew offered, "Looks to be breathing fine now. Was probably just feeling choked by his tie."

"Yeah." Sam absently agreed; she was not sure of the cause but was assured by the steady rhythm of his chest moving up and down and his relaxed facial features that he was indeed breathing easily.

Neither Sam nor Andrew had eaten, since they didn't think Foyle should be left alone, Andrew went out to pick up some fish and chips before the chippy closed. While Andrew was out Sam looked over Foyle's books for something to read. She was scanning the small collection on a shelf behind the couch.

Foyle roused and called out, his voice strained and nearly panicked "Sam?!"

He rolled to his side and attempted to sit up.

Sam moved quickly around the couch and knelt close to him, "I'm here." Foyle raised his head just enough to see her and then dropped it down to the edge of the couch. She placed her hands on his shoulders to roll him back further onto the couch.

When she started to move him he stared into her eyes, the same as he had before and said again, "Can't breathe ..."

She thought that was all he was going to say, even though he continued to hold her gaze with his own. As she tried to shift his position back to where he had been in the corner of the couch, he leaned toward her to reclaim the distance she had put between them.

Foyle continued speaking as though there had been no pause in his statement, "... when you're this close."

"Well, that's why I'm trying to get you to lean back against the cushions."

She had not understood him and he slowly shook his head as he breathed, "No."

"No, what? You don't want to have a lie down?" She started to stand so she would be able to help him into a sitting position. "Would you rather sit up?"

Foyle took hold of one of her wrists to prevent her moving away. While he eased her arm toward himself he tried to maintain eye contact, he had to make her understand; but, his eyes repeatedly rolled up under his hooded lids and shifted back and forth in failed attempts to focus each time he opened them. His head lolled slightly as he struggled to prevent it canting all the way to one side or the other.

He finally quit trying to open his eyes and concentrated his efforts on holding his head still, "Sam?"

The one word question was followed by the briefest lift of one eyelid to see whether she was still there.

"Yes?" She answered, forming her own one word question.

Foyle bobbed his head slightly and Sam managed to stand and grasp his shoulder, near his collar, with her free hand.

She carefully eased him back as he bobbed his head again and sighed, "Sam." her name a firm statement as though a confirmation of her presence.

With a swift motion she altered her grip and slipped her hand behind his head to keep it from hitting the top of the couch. Her fingers slid smoothly into the short soft waves of hair above his collar as she laid his head down gently. When Sam started to pull her hand from behind his head, she realized he still had a firm hold on her other wrist. Her eyes began to shift from the hand she trapped in cradling his head to the other restrained in his grasp. Sam's gaze was just skimming his face when he sighed again and a smile faintly twitched one corner of his mouth.

She raised the arm he held, thinking he would loosen his grip, "Sir? Sir, please? Let go."

His lips parted and moved as though he were speaking, all she heard was the disconnected sounds of "su" and "fer" as his head rolled against her arm and his fingers slackened about her wrist. Sam lifted her freed hand and used it to support his head while she retrieved the other that was pinned beneath.

As Sam stepped back from him, Andrew opened the door and stood framed in the doorway. "How's he doing?"

"Fine I think." She said with relative confidence, before glancing down to the sleeping form on the couch, and then said under her breath, "Or at least hope."

"Why do you say that?"

Sam jumped, she had not realized Andrew had closed the distance between the door and couch so quickly. He stood at her shoulder, his eyes showing both his concern for his father and eagerness for her answer.

She stalled, with only a hint of a stammer; she managed to ask, "Wwhat?"

"You said 'Or at least hope' why did you say that? What's wrong?"

"Oh! Uhm, not wrong exactly. Just, ah, strange?"

"Are you asking or telling?"

"Telling. Or, maybe asking. I mean, don't you find this whole situation strange?"

Andrew scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed, "Yeah. I've never seen dad even the slightest bit into his cups. He's always been a one drink, two maximum man."

They exchanged a look of agreement and stood staring down at the man in front of them; each silently pondering what had brought about the anomalous change in his behavior that night.

Author's Note: Sleep deprivation throws the brain into odd states of function or dysfunction – seeing Sam around Hastings – could have been as much the start of hallucinations as Foyle actually remembering, the same with clinging and grasping at what had 'in his mind' finally become attainable without being conscience of her really being there.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: own nothing / claim nothing / profit nothing All errors are mine; no Beta

Spoilers: As always potentially any episode

Author's Note: Once again I am very grateful to eyesforfiction for the pre-read, feedback, and general soundboard assistance – Thank you my friend!

 **Chapter Five**

Leaving the door open between the sitting room and the dining room Sam and Andrew ate and chatted amiably. They kept their voices low so as not to disturb Foyle's sleep and to hear if he should call out again. Andrew brought her up on what had been happening with him in his life and the current pressures of his job. Sam, in turn, told him about breaking up with Adam and having taken a short holiday to her uncle's. She deftly omitted being present at the time of the explosion at the office and any part of the issue between her and his dad. .

Sam had slipped into Foyle's bedroom, after a trip upstairs to the lavatory. She brought a blanket, from the foot of Mr. Foyle's bed back with her, to cover him while he slept.

A little more than an hour later, Andrew fell asleep in the chair; Sam woke him and sent him up to bed, "I'll stay up with him tonight. From the state of him, he's going to need help tomorrow too. That would likely be better coming from you than me."

He gave her a quizzical look.

She shrugged, "He'll be more alert. It'll be less embarrassing for him if it's you helping him then."

"Good thinking, Sam. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Good night, Andrew."

"Good night, Sam."

She sat reading in the light of a lamp tucked off in the corner so as to keep the light to a minimum in the rest of the room. Each time Foyle stirred, she would check his alertness and try and get him to drink some tea.

He would ask, "Sam?" Either sounding bewildered or in disbelief as though he couldn't believe she was really there.

Sam noticed that every time she called him sir and he would say, "Suffer."

Just past midnight, Foyle shifted restlessly and began to make distressed noises; Sam roused him from the nightmare.

He called out, "Sam." pleadingly, as he stirred.

Foyle's eyes opened and he seemed to look past her, "I'm sorry, Sam. Don't leave me ..." the rest of his words were inaudible as he mumbled his way back to sleep.

Sam tucked the blanket back around him and assured, "I'm not going anywhere. Just go back to sleep, sir."

His lips parted in a soft pop and moved slightly before he said, "Stooo fffffferffrr." and then fell to sleep again; mid-utterance.

Foyle talked in his sleep but Sam did not pay any attention as he mumbled. As long as he did not appear to be having a bad dream and he was not speaking discernably, she kept her seat and continued to read.

A few hours after the nightmare Foyle began to shake; Sam retrieved an additional blanket from the back bedroom; careful not to wake him, Sam laid it over him and tucked it in a bit to help him stay warm.

A couple of minutes later he called out, "Sam! Sam, I'm sorry. Please stay"

Sam attempted to rouse him from the distressing dream, with a shake of his shoulder.

He continued. "Please call me. I miss ..."

When the gentle shake was not enough, Sam shook more firmly and spoke softly, "Wake up, sir. You're dreaming. It's just a dream. Wake up, everything is alright."

Foyle shuddered and mumbled what sounded like, "Don't leave me alone. I don't want to be alone, again. It's too cold alone."

Sam sat down next to him, thinking he was actually feeling cold right then, she tucked the blanket about him again and rubbed his arm as she whispered, "It's okay, you aren't alone. You'll be warm again soon."

Foyle eased her to him, wrapped his arms around her and cradled her gently to his chest with a sigh and mumbled, "You're back, Sam." He then repeated, "Sorry." several times as he drifted back to sleep.

Sam expected he would be horribly uncomfortable with the intimate appearance of the situation when he woke. She did not think she should risk adding to the embarrassment by falling asleep his arms. However, every time she tried to extract herself he would stir and pull her to him again; always keeping her within his embrace and then mumble either an apology or a request that she stay.

At one point when she tried to move away, he hugged her closely long enough to mumble, "Can't live without you. Sam, I can't ..." his words trailed off as he once again succumbed to an unconscious state.

She was surprised by the statement and decided to give up trying to move for the time being; thinking she would wait until he was deeper into sleep. As she relaxed against his chest she heard him sigh and felt him move his cheek across her hair. Sam decided it was more important that he sleep and was not disturbed or distressed; so, she abandoned the idea of moving. Facing his discomfort and embarrassment in the morning would be easier for her to endure as long as she knew staying put had brought him peaceful sleep.

Without realizing it, Sam drifted off into a deep sleep. At some point in the night she turned into Foyle's chest and, how she had no idea but, was under the blankets with him. She woke when a ray of sunlight glimmered through the window and crossed her face. Trying not to move too quickly, in the rush of panic at finding herself hugging Mr. Foyle in return, she attempted to ease her weight away from him. His arm tightened around her and she felt him draw in a deep breath under the hand she rested on his shirt front. Before she could think of what to do next, she heard a noise in the kitchen and was sure Andrew was up. Panic flooded though her anew at the thought that he had to have seen her and his father together on the couch.

Foyle exhaled a soft but clearly spoken, "Good morning."

Sam started in surprise, her body jerked upward a bit and then returned to where it had been; Mr. Foyle holding her firmly in place. She attempted to push against him to move away.

"Jjjjust a minute Sam, please?"

Her body stilled as she relaxed back against his chest; her mind racing in six directions at once.

"IIIIII, uh, nnneed to say something. And I think it might be easier if I, uh, … . Well, if I look at you, I may not get through it. Okay?"

Sam nodded her head against him, not sure what to say and afraid she would pick the wrong thing if she tried.

"I'm sorry. I know I hurt you. It was not my intention, not at all. Things were, uh, …" he paused as he drew in a breath and weighed how to say what was on his mind, "I was having a bad morning after a rotten night and I, … . Well, I'm just very sorry."

Sam's mind debated whether he was apologizing for the previous night of for the last time she had seen him. Assuming the latter, she said, "I understand." Even though it was not entirely true

"No. I don't think you do. I'd had nightmares for two nights and after you quit, they became constant; every time I fell asleep; I would have another nightmare."

"Oh! How terrible!" Her sympathy sincere, as her mind tried to pull all of the pieces together.

"Every one of them had you being taken from me, in some way."

The surprise of those words caused her to gasp. While she was trying to sort out exactly what that meant she heard him make a confession.

"Got drunk on purpose last night. Hoped I'd just pass out. I needed sleep so badly. Stupid thing to do." His mirthless chuckle bespoke more of his pain than his words had. "But, seemed like a good idea at the time."

Sam slipped her hand from his chest and wrapped her arm around him, giving him a one arm hug, "I'm sorry. That must have been a horrible thing to go through."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: own nothing / claim nothing / profit nothing All errors are mine; no Beta

Spoilers: As always potentially any episode

Author's Note: Once again I am very grateful to eyesforfiction for the pre-read, feedback, and general soundboard assistance – Thank you my friend!

 **Chapter Six**

Andrew came into the room, at that point, and said quietly, "Here's your tea, dad." as he set the cup and saucer on the end table.

Foyle responded in a conversational volume, "Thank you Andrew."

The younger Foyle leaned on the arm of the couch and looked over his dad's head, "Oh, you're awake, Sam. Good morning."

She moaned, and hid her face against Foyle's chest. He brought his arm up across her shoulders and chuckled at her as he said, "Andrew and I had quite a talk while you were still asleep."

Andrew eagerly agreed, "I'll say!" and then added in an incredulous tone, "Dad's in love."

Foyle cautioned firmly without raising his voice any louder than before, "Andrew!"

"Well, that's what it sounded like to me." Andrew defended his observation.

"Enough, Andrew." His father's tone had deepened, clearly saying he was incredibly serious about his son dropping the topic.

Foyle glanced at the top of Sam's head; she had yet to lift her face from his chest. He glanced at Andrew, as soon as he had his son's gaze, Foyle slid his eyes to the doorway; silently signaling he should leave to room.

Andrew realized then that Sam must have been embarrassed to be found on the couch with his father. He quickly excused himself by saying he would go fix Sam some tea and a bit of breakfast for all three of them; effectively leaving his dad alone to deal with Sam's embarrassment.

As he reached the door, his father softly requested, "Close the door, Andrew?"

Sam moved to sit up and Foyle did not prevent her movement; however, when she shifted as though she were going to get up off the couch Foyle placed a hand lightly on her arm.

"Talk with me?" His voice was quiet and held an unfamiliar tone; at least one Sam never recalled hearing from him before.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, "About?"

Foyle scratched lightly at his forehead and across the top of his head and then ran his hand through to smooth his hair, "I don't know, Sam. Everything, nothing. Something?"

It was impossible for her to discern the deeper meaning she was sure laid beyond his words; his face was inscrutable.

As she studied his face and began to look more confused, he added with a small shrug, "Just stay with me."

Sam adjusted her position so she was sitting slightly sideways; facing Foyle and leaned her shoulder against the back of the couch, "What is it?"

At his questioning expression she amended, "With you. You're different. I mean, I've never known you to get drunk and neither has Andrew."

His gaze narrowed on her just a little as he maintained steady eye contact, "I told you, it was a stupid idea to try and get some sleep." He shook his head; his face holding his apology.

Sam took the look to mean he was sorry she saw him that way or sorry because he thought he let her down. "We all have stupid ideas sometimes. If you'd gone very long without sleep you probably weren't thinking very clearly." She moved the arm his hand rested on so she could squeeze his hand.

Foyle turned his hand and gently grasped hers, "Sam, I _wasn't_ sleeping. At least, nothing resembling restful sleep. I'll explain it all later. Right now, I have to make sure you know how very sorry I am that I hurt you."

She was monetarily puzzled, her face reflected her confusion, as she wondered what he meant; he had already apologized.

"You quit and wouldn't even speak to me ..."

The pain in his voice tore at her. Sam couldn't help but interrupt, "I tried to call you and then find you when they told me you resigned. Talk about a stupid idea ..." she felt his hand twitch and saw him blink; almost as though she had slapped him. Sam quickly finished her statement, hoping to clarify it for him, "I never should have quit. I was upset about Adam and me and, well, I just, it was just very stupid of me to quit. Not to mention I picked a horrible way to do it."

Foyle relaxed some at her explanation. "It's no excuse, but it's only fair for you to know I was upset by several things that morning in addition to not having slept; well enough for nightmares, but nothing restful. I was so..." he shrugged as he thought how to word what he wanted to say, "out of sorts. The nightmares upset me and everything that morning seemed to agitate me further." Foyle sighed under the weight of the memory, "And I couldn't think of enough things for you to do while I was gone, and... " another sigh punctuated his words, "I'm _sorry_ , Sam. So very sorry."

The earlier sound she had noted seemed to suddenly match the expression on his face; Sam was instantly aware that 'something' was fear. Something frightening him but she could not think of a tactful way to ask him about it; so, she simply offered him a small smile and said, "I'm sorry too, Sir."

"Christopher." He said flatly.

Confusion returned to her face, "What?" she prompted him to clarify.

"That's my name Sam. Not Sir. And, you don't work for me any longer. Calling me Mr. Foyle isn't necessary, either. With all the years we've known each other; I think you could call me Christopher. Don't you?"

She felt herself blink a couple of times and then became self-conscience of the act and blinked twice more; equally involuntarily. Slowly and deliberately, she agreed, "Alright, Christopher."

The easy smile that softened his features completely disarmed her. Sam was infused with a insistent curiosity to know more. It seemed as though he had inexplicably taken on the qualities of one of the novels she favored; suddenly full of mystery and hidden secrets she was meant to uncover.

She ventured in discovery, "You mentioned nightmares several times." He visibly tensed and Sam instinctively clasped his hand, "Please. Tell me about them? You can trust me, you know that, right? Please Christopher, I'd like to help."

Again Sam noticed how her use of his Christian name seemed to have an unusual effect on him; he appeared more receptive and affable. Just generally more open, Sam thought and wondered why there would be such a pronounced reaction to a simple change.

Foyle took a deep breath and rolled his eyes at her as he exhaled, as if to say 'only because you ask', "I hate them. They're all variations on the same thing. Something happens that causes you to go away."

He really did not want to have to detail the dreams. His hopeful expression begged her to understand his meaning in the brevity of his words.

Sam asked, "Go away how?"

Foyle knew it hadn't worked, she had not read the silent plea. Sam's curious mind would not be satisfied that easily. He sighed at the painful recollections, "Every way imaginable."

There was no mistaking the pain in his eyes as he made the short statement.

"Oh!" She almost felt physically ill; from the revelation and the unmistakable pain she saw in his unguarded expression. Sam moved her other hand and held his in both of hers.

"I can't stand the idea of you going away, Sam. I don't know when or how or why things changed. Aaand, I certainly hope you don't think me balmy for even saying anything; let alone feeling the way I do. I don't, uh, well; I don't even know what it is exactly that I do feel." He rolled his eyes in frustration, "Now, I just sound daft, blathering on, and ..." he left the statement hang over an abbreviated sweep of his hand.

Sam was hesitant to trust what she though he meant.

She screwed up her face, briefly in concentration, and then gave him cautious look, "First, I would never think you balmy or daft. Second, I think I have an idea of what you are trying to explain; but, I'm afraid you'll think me balmy if I'm wrong. So, before I say anything more about that can we both just agree we each made mistakes and errors in judgement? And forgive ourselves and each other?" She offered him a warm smile to encourage his agreement.

"Yeah." He extended his hand, "Friends?" and they shook.

Sam released the hold of one hand that held his to shake the proffered hand; his eyes held hers as gently as he held her hand.

"Friends." She assured him as they shook on their agreement.

Foyle did not release her hand, his voice was low but firm and his gaze intent, "Sam, if you think I'll think you balmy if you're wrong; you probably aren't wrong at all. But, I'd rather not have that discussion with Andrew around." He paused a moment for that statement to register with her before he said, "I don't know if he is planning to stay the weekend or not. How long are you here?"

"In Hastings?"

He opened his eyes a bit wider and tilted his head down and slightly to one side: the look said, 'Yes'. He lowered the her hand with his so all four of their hands rested folded among each other.

"As long as I want. My only plan was to find you and talk with you. Failing that I was going to return to Uncle Aubrey's."

"Where are you staying?"

"A friend's."

"One who will be worried that you weren't in last night?"

"No." She gave him an almost impish smile, "I called her when we got you home. Told her I was seeing to a friend who wasn't feeling well and shouldn't be left alone."

"She didn't ask any questions about that?"

"No. But, she did offer to help." Sam's smile transitioned to a tight smirk to keep from laughing at the 'oh god' face he made.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: own nothing / claim nothing / profit nothing All errors are mine; no Beta

Spoilers: As always potentially any episode

Author's Note: Once again I am very grateful to eyesforfiction for the pre-read, feedback, and general soundboard assistance – Thank you my friend!

 **Chapter Seven**

Andrew came in to say breakfast was ready and waiting in the kitchen. Foyle and Sam only then realized they were still holding hands, as they moved to get up off the couch. Andrew noticed before the pair released their hold on each other's hands and stood. Sam excused herself and told them not to wait their meal on her; she wanted to freshen up a bit first. Foyle whispered to Andrew to keep breakfast ready until they returned.

He went upstairs behind Sam and reached her as she turned to close the bathroom door, "One moment, Sam."

"Yeah." She said a note of surprise in her voice.

Foyle stepped into his room for a moment and returned with one of his jumpers in one hand and one of her sweaters in the other.

He extended his jumper first, "This is likely to be too big for you, but..." he handed over her sweater, "this buttoned at the waist should help."

"Thank you, Christopher. Where did you ...?" she did not complete the question, just held her sweater up.

"The bottom drawer of my office file cabinet." He said simply but a twinkle glinted in his eyes.

"I completely forgot I'd put it there. I looked everywhere for it."

Giving into impulse he smirked at her, "Not everywhere." Humor dancing in his eyes.

Sam laughed at his joke and agreed, "No. Not everywhere. I won't be long."

"Take your time, Told Andrew to keep breakfast at the ready." He gave her a conspiratorial wink and went back to his room.

Foyle grabbed a clean shirt and his favorite corduroy weekend coat and went back down stairs. Using the small bathroom at the back of the house he readied himself for breakfast, sans shave; since he forgot to get his soap cup and razor from the upstairs bath before he left Sam.

Both of them reached the kitchen table about the same time; Andrew tried his best from that moment on to discern any change between his father and Sam. He was certain, from the conversation he had had with his dad while Sam was still asleep, his father was in love. Whether the woman in question was Sam or not he could only guess. Instinct said it was; but, neither gave him any clue, visual or otherwise, one way or the other, beyond the earlier moment of hand holding.

Foyle addressed his son, "Thought you said you were too busy to come down this weekend?"

Andrew's face colored slightly, "I did and I was. Still am really."

Foyle turned expectant eyes on him, "Oh?"

"Yeah. I have a big proposal due Monday morning."

His father held a look that felt to Andrew more intimidating than expectant.

He merely shrugged How could he tell his dad why he changed his mind?

"And you're here because?"

With a direct question and that look he had first become familiar with as a small boy, he couldn't not tell his father.

With a swallow and deep steadying breath he said gently, "Because, I kept replaying our conversation and the tone of your voice was so, unlike you. I thought it best I come down after all."

Foyle gave him a tight half smile; the left corner of his mouth drew back in apology and he said simply, "Thank you."

Andrew was so relieved that he had not taken exception to his implication that he felt his father needed to be checked on; he too offered a half smile and simple, "You're welcome, dad."

"Should you be getting back?"

"I'd like to say no. But, I really should."

Foyle was annoyed with himself for worrying his son; causing him to come visit when he had work to do. His annoyance came through in the single word comment, "Right."

Andrew thought his father was upset with him, "I'm sorry, dad. I didn't mean that..."

Realizing he had caused his son to misunderstand, Foyle gave him a warm smile, "No, Andrew. I know you didn't. Completely understand." his smile faltered a bit as he apologized, "I'm just sorry I made you leave your work for nothing."

"Oh, I wouldn't say ' _for nothing_ '. Last night was quite _something_!" The younger man looked to Sam for affirmation while his father gave her a silent appeal for assistance.

Thinking quickly she tried to help them both, "Well, it certainly was something I would never have believed if I hadn't seen it. But, being acquainted with the events that led up to it makes it completely understandable."

Each of the men gave her a grateful smile and turned to face each other; both surprised by the look worn by the other.

Foyle was faster to recover and schooled his features into an inscrutable neutral expression.

Andrew's smile dropped to crestfallen disappointment at realizing he had been left out of certain information.

His dad read him easily and offered, "Last night, aside from being an embarrassing lapse in judgment, was a couple of weeks in the making."

Sam instinctively knew Andrew would take that statement as reason to quiz his father. So, she interjected, "There were some events at work that sort of set" she didn't think calling him Christopher at that moment would help the situation, "your dad on the course to last night. You understand that we can't discuss our work, right?"

"Oh sure! No, I know that. I just, well" he looked from Sam to his dad, "you aren't going to do that again are you?"

Foyle held his son's gaze, "Get drunk?"

"Yeah."

"Nnnno!" The pinched look on his face as he closed his eyes was the only indication either Sam or Andrew had had that Foyle was enduring the after effects of the previous night.

Andrew gave a relieved sigh, "Good!"

His dad couldn't help the small snicker that escaped, "My thought exactly. I meant what I said, 'lapse in judgment'; chose a worse solution to an already bad situation."

His son nodded acceptance of his statement and then turned to Sam, "You'll keep an eye on him though, right?"

The one word was barely more than a whisper, "Right." Sam's mind had begun to churn.

She wondered just how bad Christopher's hangover was when he didn't protest Andrew's request that she 'keep an eye on him'. He had hidden his hangover well enough that she had forgotten he should have one after the night he had. The fact that he had just shown he was dealing with some pain and was not arguing against needing to be looked after became a growing concern to her.

Foyle's voice broke through her reverie, "Andrew, I give you my word, I will not get drunk again. But you have to give me your word you will not let me keep you from your work any longer."

"Deal. I'll head out as soon as I clean up the kitchen."

Sam started to offer, "I'll do that, Andr..."

"No!" He didn't shout but Christopher's inflection brokered no argument. When they both looked at him in surprise, he explained, "Sam, you have no idea the mess this one makes in the kitchen when left alone." He leveled a look on his son daring him to argue the point.

The younger man dipped his head away from Sam's gaze and his father gave her a satisfied smirk that set her giggling at the two.

She managed to speak around her humor, "Well, at least I can help. After all, he did fix breakfast."

Foyle glanced from her to his son and back again, then canted his head to one side, raised an eyebrow and said with absolute sympathy, "Good luck."

Again she giggled.

"Go ahead; show her the scene of the crime."

"Dad!" Andrew attempted in protest.

"What? Sam's always held her own facing bombs. At least that one has already detonated."

Her giggling gave way to a hearty laugh and Foyle grinned in satisfaction.

Andrew gave up and started clearing the dishes.

Sam stood and collected a few items before following him into the kitchen.

Foyle lingered, waiting for her reaction upon seeing what he was sure awaited her.

"Andrew!? How could you ... ?"

She stuttered and stammered incoherent utterances as Foyle stood and headed to the upstairs bathroom, chuckling to himself; he had tried to warn her.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: own nothing / claim nothing / profit nothing All errors are mine; no Beta

Spoilers: As always potentially any episode

Author's Note: Once again I am very grateful to eyesforfiction for the pre-read, feedback, and general soundboard assistance – Thank you my friend!

 **Chapter Eight**

Upstairs he completed a proper clean up and shave; although, it had taken him longer than usual. His hangover wasn't as bad as some he had had in his youth but it was impeding him some. With there being no need to rush, he took his time and did nothing to cause a rebellion in his head or stomach. As he came back down the stairs he decided a quiet, softly lit day was in order. Stepping into the sitting room he squinted against the bright sunlight coming through the window. Foyle made his way, mostly by touch and not sight, to the window and pulled the inner shade across to dim the brightness, then decided closing the main drape half way would also be a good idea. He eased himself into his chair and closed his eyes. The murmur of Sam and Andrew talking in the kitchen resonated around him in soothing rhythmic tones. It was not possible to make out their words, but the easy manner in which they talked came through as two people quite comfortable and relaxed with each other. Foyle found himself wondering why Sam and Andrew never became more than friends. Which started him thinking about the feasibility of he and Sam becoming more than friends. There were so many reasons against the idea; they rapidly came to mind, one after another. So quickly and so many he started to think it was indeed a daft notion. Foyle forced his mind to consider reasons in favor of the idea. His mind stalled and he felt as though he were floating in swirls just above where he sat. Getting sidetracked by the disembodied sensation he forgot what he was trying to think about.

"Dad?" Andrew's voice gently reached through the haze and Foyle realized he had drifted into sleep.

He lifted his eyelids and slid his eyes across the room before they rolled closed. After drawing in a deep breath he sighed, "Hmm?"

"I just wanted to say goodbye."

Foyle's brow furrowed in confusion briefly and then he said, "Oh, right." With a deep breath he pushed his eyelids up and his eyes rolled down to focus on his son. With a deep breath and controlled exhale he moved to get up.

"Dad, you don't..."

He was on his feet before Andrew finished his protest. Looking steadily at his son he said, "Thank you, Andrew."

Andrew gave his dad a smile, "You're welcome. Anytime dad. You know that, right?"

"Do, now." Foyle shrugged and mirrored Andrew's smile.

"You'll look after him?" Andrew asked Sam.

"Of course. Don't worry Andrew, he's gonna to be fine."

He flashed Sam a quick smile and then turned to his dad for confirmation, "Are you, dad?"

"Yep." His facial expression and body language conveyed more to Andrew in their familiarity; his dad was in control of the situation and would see to it that everything _would_ be fine.

Andrew nodded; his silent communication equally familiar to his dad; 'okay, if you say so, I trust you'.

Andrew gave Sam a quick hug, "Thanks, Sam. Hope to see you again soon."

"You're welcome, Andrew. Goodbye and travel safe. I'm sure it won't be too long before we see each other."

Andrew surprised her and his dad when he turned and hugged his dad quickly, just as he had Sam, "I'm really glad you're alright, dad."

Before Foyle could respond beyond a fleeting pat to his son's back, Andrew had turned on one heel and walked out of the house. The hasty exit was strategically planned to spare both men an emotional scene in front of Sam.

Sam and Foyle stared at the retreating figure. When the sounds of the front door opening, closing and being latched reached their ears the pair looked at each other. For a moment they stared blankly at each other; at a loss for what to say or do.

Foyle commented on the first thing that came to mind, "Thank you, Sam. For everything. Especially, the sleep last night. Actually slept and feel rested for the first time in a long time."

"You're welcome. But, before we get into any discussion about anything you need to get some more sleep."

Sam tentatively took hold of his hand.

When he hesitated, she said, "Christopher, please? Those few hours last night cannot possibly make up for all the sleep you've lost."

Foyle relaxed and allowed her to lead him upstairs to lie down. Once he lay down on his bed, Sam simply joined him on the bed; without asking or explaining. She lay down near him and wrapped one arm around him in reassurance that she was there and hoped he would get more the much needed restful sleep he had been denied for so long.

Foyle adjusted their positioning, just enough so he held her too and soon they were both sound asleep. Sam woke first and needed to use the lavatory, she slipped carefully from the bed, hoping not to disturb him.

As she was standing in the doorway of his room, debating with herself about returning to his bed, he jolted awake, glanced at the empty half of the bed and called out, "Sam?!"

She quickly moved to the bed, "Right here. I had to ..." she pointed in the direction of the bathroom, "Sorry."

"No, no. I'm sorry. I just ..."

"Realized I wasn't there?" She supplied knowingly.

He was taken aback that she had understood so well and so fast, "Yeah. Exactly. Sorry to over react."

Sam shook her head, "No apology needed." She glanced to the bed and back to him, "May I?"

"Please." Foyle moved to make room for her and wrapped his arms around her as she settled next to him and draped an arm across his middle again.

"Think you can go back to sleep?" She asked along his shirt front.

"I don't know."

"Try?"

"Yeah." He drew her close and settled in. "Okay?"

"Yeah."

He returned to sleep for about an hour. Sam remained beside him with her arm resting atop his chest; although, she did not go back to sleep.

When he woke, he sighed contentedly.

Sam slid her arm from his chest, shifted a bit and then leaned on her elbows to look at him, "Feel any better?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. You need to get more sleep if you can."

"Not right now. I'd rather talk to you."

"About my 'balmy notion'?"

"Yeah. Or mine. Although, I suspect they may be the same." Foyle said as he sat up enough to scoot himself a little higher on the bed and more to his side, so he could see Sam more comfortably.

Because Sam feared they might not be thinking the same thing and she didn't want to risk stating hers before she heard his, she asked "You want to share yours first?" and silently hoped he would say 'Yes'.

He closed his eyes and was quiet for so long she thought he might have drifted back to sleep. However, when he drew a deep breath and huffed out a short sigh, she knew he was awake.

Foyle spoke in a slow measured voice, "Not all together sure where to start."

"Okay."

Again they were quiet and Sam waited.

After a minute or so, she suggested, "Why don't you just start, wherever, and if I need clarification, I can ask you questions."

"Yeah, good." was his answer but he said nothing more.

Foyle chewed lightly on the inside of his cheek and Sam watched as he pondered a while before she decided to try prompting him, "Tell me about the nightmares? What is it that is so upsetting?"

Another deep breath and short huff of an exhale and he opened his and began, "Something always takes you from me and I can't do anything to stop it."

When he stalled she asked, "Is it the same thing? Like the same nightmare over and over?"

"No, they're different. Sometimes an accident illness or another person. But, you always go away."

"Go away? You mean die?"

"Sometimes. And sometimes you just leave."

"With the other people." she said it as a statement and when he hummed in confirmation she asked, "Who are they?"

"I don't always know them."

"The ones you do know, who are they?"

He hesitated and then started to hedge, "Sam, I don't think ..."

She could hear the nervousness in his tone and interrupted what she assumed was an attempt at deflecting the conversation. In more statement than question she said in a direct manner, "Men." Sam moved upward in the bed and closer to Foyle. She hugged herself, albeit awkwardly, to his chest and sought verification of her statement, "They are always men, aren't they?"

His answer was spoken softly but without hesitation or emotion, "Yes."

Sam's mind had begun to put the pieces together rapidly, "And the accidents and illnesses. Those are bombs or anthrax or radiation or grenade explosions?"

"Yeah." There was a sense of defeat in the one word and she felt his body sink under her arms.

She nodded her head against his chest, "I get it. And, I'm not going anywhere."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: own nothing / claim nothing / profit nothing All errors are mine; no Beta

Spoilers: As always potentially any episode

Author's Note: Once again I am very grateful to eyesforfiction for the pre-read, feedback, and general soundboard assistance – Thank you my friend!

 **Chapter Nine**

Foyle drew her up and closer, rolled onto his back, pressed his face against her hair and softly breathed, "Sam."

Between the description of his nightmares and Andrew's earlier comment of 'Dad's in love' Sam suddenly realized that they actually may have had similar ideas after all; she ventured with somewhat greater confidence; but, still in a small voice, "Wanna hear my 'balmy notion'?"

"Hmmm." She felt the vibration on her head where his face was still against her hair.

"I love you, Christopher." She spoke the words in the same small voice but made sure her words were not lost or obstructed by his shirt, where she rested her head.

Foyle didn't move or give her any indication that she had surprised or upset him; he simply drew in a slow steady breath and asked, "Sam?" Inflection caressing her name gently; almost coaxing, in his bid to encourage her to continue.

"You've been like family for so long. But, it's not like, I mean, it's …" she sighed as she tried to think how best to explain.

"More than that." He finished for her, as certain of his words as if he had been the one explaining.

"Yeah." Sam shifted her head so she could look at him; she had to see his eyes.

However, her gaze only drifted as high as his lips, where she hesitated for just a second, before she continued her search for his eyes. When their eyes settled on each other he eased forward to close the distance between them and gave her a brief tentative kiss, followed by another; just the slightest bit longer than the first.

He leaned his head back so he could look at her, "So, you don't think I'm daft?" his expression guardedly expectant.

Sam couldn't help but grin at him, "No more than I am." She cupped his face with one hand and slowly drew him back to her. Her kiss was not as tentative or brief, but she was half convinced she would scare him if she gave in to her sense of relief and kissed him the way she wished to.

After she released his lips and moved her hand from his face, Sam wriggled up so her head was even with his near the pillows. She leaned just her face toward him; keeping her hands away from him so he could move back if he wanted to. She kissed him again and when Christopher reached out and caressed her face; she lingered in her attentions a little longer than she had intended.

When she pulled her face back, he took in another slow deep breath; in and out, his muscles releasing their tension on his exhale.

She looked at how relaxed his features were and, although quite sure of the answer, she asked, "Okay?"

He held her eyes, "Yep." he breathed, on a contented sigh, as he stroked his fingers along her ear, then the side of her neck and began to place a series of little kisses around her mouth.

Sam did not try to return any of his kisses until he brushed his lips across hers. She reflexively kissed at him in return and he made the same light move across her lips only slower. When she kissed at him the second time he shifted slightly and graced her with a confident kiss that clearly staked his desired claim to her lips. Sam felt as though she were melting into him. When he eased his pressure and returned to placing the little kisses around her mouth she felt like she was floating. Christopher trailed the little kisses along her cheek and stilled his head with his face pressed between hers and the edge of the pillow.

Sam took a turn at a slow deep inhale and exhale; her mind whirling in an attempt to assess the feelings Christopher brought to her.

She brushed her cheek to his gently and breathed lightly at his ear, "So, we're going to be daft and balmy together?"

Foyle gave a nod and mumbled into her hair and the pillow, "I hope so."

Sam giggled at him, "Good."

Christopher pulled his head free and gave her the most amazing look of wonder, she had ever seen on his face, as he traced the side of her face with his fingers and then smiled sweetly at her. Foyle hugged her to him and leaned back against his own pillow, cradling her to his chest in the movement.

She heard him sigh softly and asked hopefully, "Think you can get some more sleep?"

He squeezed her just the slightest bit tighter and asked, "You staying here?"

Sam re-positioned so she was lying beside him more than hugged against him. "How about right here? You need sleep and having weight on your chest or an arm go numb is not going to be helpful."

He shifted down so he lay beside her and took her hand in his, "Okay?"

"As long as you get some sleep."

"I'm sure I will. You're here." he said softly but clearly confident in his words as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Just sleep," Sam stretched across the small space between them, stroked his face with her other hand and kissed him just once before she promised, "I'll stay right here while you sleep. I'll be here when you wake."

She kissed him once more and relaxed back into the bed; her hand slowly trailing from his face as she drew away enough to lie down. Christopher was already beginning to relax; his body remained still when Sam let her fingers drift down his cheek. Just before she broke the contact of her touch on his jaw, he turned his head just enough to kiss her fingers on their final fleeting brush against his skin. His eyelids were already becoming heavy and he let them drift closed as Sam withdrew her hand. In a few minutes she noticed his breathing had become slow and even. A little while after that his grasp on her hand slackened; but, she dared not move it for fear of startling him awake. Sam watched him sleep. She had seen him doze a few times, in the car over the years, but could not recall ever seeing him deeply asleep. Although greatly tempted, she resisted the urge to gently trace the immeasurably relaxed features of his face. She smiled to herself as she realized she simply wanted to be near him. The touch of their hands was enough to calm her as it made her feel deeply connected to him emotionally. It was not long before she lulled herself to sleep with her contented thoughts of being able to love and be loved by Christopher.

Sam woke before he did and knew they had both slept quite a while; the room was cast in deep shadows where it had previously been clearly visible in the soft sunlight that had filtered through the shear inner drape of the window. Aside from the thought of how long they had slept, Sam's mind recalled Christopher's earlier comment of not knowing 'when, how, or why things changed' between them. A tiny persistent, if only partial, answer repeated itself to her; they each had faced the prospect of truly losing the other in the past couple of weeks. Neither of them had liked that possibility at all. She could not resist smiling to herself as she thought about the 'discoveries' of their past relationship and, more importantly, their future relationship they could make together. While she watched Christopher sleep, Sam wondered if they would ever identify a specific moment for either of them when things changed. Questions tumbled through her mind; central to that thought: 'Would they ever be able to identify a single moment for each of them? Would it be the same moment? Was it a series of moments? We're any of them the same for both of them? She held a smirk on her face for her silly thoughts because none of that truly mattered at present. Sam focused her attention back to Christopher's peaceful sleeping form and wondered if she would ever grow tired of watching him. She had made an unconscious study of him for years and still found new aspects in which she marveled. As far as she figured, it would take the rest of her life to exhaust her interest on the subject of Christopher Foyle.


End file.
